


If I love you, what business is it of yours?

by tattooedsiren



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Angst, Love, M/M, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-21
Updated: 2012-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-31 12:58:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tattooedsiren/pseuds/tattooedsiren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harvey has been left alone in Mike's apartment and he starts snooping. He discovers a letter adressed to him and, not realising it's actually an "in the event of my death" letter, he starts reading...</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I love you, what business is it of yours?

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written from the suits-meme. Title comes from the quote by Goethe.

The second Mike opened the door to discover Harvey standing on the other side, wearing a more expensive suit than normal and a scowl on his face, he remembered.

"Oh God," Mike exclaimed.

"You know, for someone with a genius memory, you seriously forget everything."

"It's not the same thing," he stammered, already moving back into the apartment.

Harvey walked in, closing the door behind him. "Maybe I should just start tattooing everything of importance on your forehead."

Mike was combing through his wardrobe, grabbing at any pants and shirts that might be appropriate. "That would only work if the words were tattooed in mirror writing. And if you installed a mirror above my monitor at work." He crossed back through the apartment to the bathroom, saying "I'll be fifteen minutes," before closing the bathroom door behind him, cutting off the inevitable smart-ass reply from Harvey.

Harvey threw up his hands in frustration, a completely empty gesture as there was no one there to witness it. He removed his jacket, placing it carefully on the back of the couch, and idly paced the room for a few minutes to pass the time. It wasn't that he hadn’t been in Mike's apartment before, he had, but he had never really been there alone before, and the temptation to snoop was surprisingly overwhelming.

But he was a powerful, successful adult and was above such things. At least, that was what he told himself, despite the fact he was scanning the bookshelf, peering into his kitchen cupboards, running his hands over the clutter on his table.

_Seriously, does he never clean this place_ , Harvey thought as he combed through a stack of newspapers dated from the last month. But peeking out from under the pile was something that caught his attention. It was an envelope, off-white in colour, and just from running his fingertip over the corner he could tell it was expensive. Curiosity got the better of him so he pulled it out from under the papers. There were no markings on it aside from one word in Mike's handwriting: _Grammy._

Harvey quirked an eyebrow. It didn’t make a lot of sense; Mike and his grandmother were close, close enough that he visited whenever he could, so Harvey couldn’t work out why he would need to write a letter to someone he saw every other week. With a small shrug Harvey lifted the stack of newspapers to put the envelope back. But that’s when he saw it – another envelope, identical in every way except there was a different name on the front. Harvey's name.

He picked it up, held it gingerly in his hand for a moment. He looked back in the direction of the bathroom; he could still hear the water running. He knew he should put it back, pretend he never saw it, but something inside him took over and before he knew it he had ripped open the envelope and started reading.

_Dear Harvey,  
Well, this is it. Never again will you have to complain about my skinny ties or my caring all over the place or my being late somewhere because I forgot you needed me or any of the other thousand things about my person that irritate you on a daily basis. Because if you are reading this, it means that I have moved on to the next great adventure.  
I've left a letter for Grammy. Please make sure she gets it.  
You're probably wondering why a 28 year old has written one of those "in the event of my death” letters. Well, let me explain. My dad died when I was ten, but he had been sick for as long as I could remember. He wrote letters just like this to me and my mom, something that we would always have after he had gone. In the letter he said he did it so that there would never be anything left unsaid. After he died, my mom did the same thing, which I discovered when she died a year later. I cherish those letters, and started writing my own.  
Pretty morbid thing for a 12 year old to do, write a letter to his grandmother in case he was hit by a bus or something. But writing those letters (once a year, always on the same date, and I destroy the previous one) became a sort of ritual that I have never given up. For a long time the only letter I wrote was to Grammy. When I was 17 I started writing one to Trevor as well, but when he left for Montana I didn't feel the need to write a new one after I destroyed the old one.  
I've known you for three years and this is the second letter I've written to you. You should have seen the first one – it was half the length of what I have written so far (and I'm nowhere near done) and basically it was me going_ thanks for hiring me, it was the nicest and best thing anyone has ever done for me, sorry I'm abandoning you, hope the Harvard douche you hire to replace me isn't too douchey. _Well, I phrased it a bit more elegantly, but that was the general gist.  
And that’s not to say that I don’t still have those sentiments. I do. You hiring me seriously changed my life and I will be forever grateful for that. And I do hope that the Harvard wanker you hire to replace me isn't completely useless – because let's face it, what are the odds of another almost drug dealer with a knowledge of the law and an eidetic memory crashing your interview room twice.  
But there is something else I want to tell you, something more important. And I don't know how to say it (write it, whatever) and I am seriously sitting here with shaking hands because I am so goddam nervous, which is ridiculous, because the only way you are ever going to know is if I die and I'm pretty sure I'll be beyond caring at that point.  
Okay, here it is. I think I kinda love you. Maybe.  
Let me explain.  
Do you remember when I told you that you were only the second person who told me what I needed to hear? Well, that's completely true. But you were also the only one who made me feel worthy, worthwhile. You were the only one who made me want to be more, better. You were the only one whose opinion mattered to me, the only one I wanted to help and impress and trust. Where I come from, that equates to love.  
I love you, Harvey.  
And I don't know what _

"What are you doing?"

Mike's voice startled him, literally made him jump. Harvey stood from the chair he had collapsed into and looked up at Mike. He was standing in front of the closed bathroom door, suit pants and shirt offset by the damp and unbrushed hair, and Harvey had never seen him look more furious.

"What the hell is this?" Harvey asked instead, holding up the letter.

"Did you go through my stuff?" Mike demanded angrily, advancing into the room and stealing the letter from Harvey's hand.

"You wanna answer my question?" Harvey said instead.

"You fucking read my letter? How dare you! Why on earth did you read this?"

"It had my name on it."

Mike laughed bitterly. "Oh, well then, by all means, here, have it back," and he crumpled the half-read letter in his hands and threw it at Harvey's feet.

Harvey didn't move to pick it up, just stared at Mike. Mike was pacing the small room, hands on his hips and getting more worked up with each step. "I can't believe you had the nerve-" but then he kicked a box on the floor and strode to his front door, opening it. "Get out."

"What?" Harvey asked, genuinely surprised.

"You heard me. Get out, Harvey. You crossed a line here and I really can't… Please, just leave."

"You're kicking me out?" He felt the anger rise within. Mike had hidden this from him, and they had a deal, granted it was an unspoken one, but there was a trust between them based on the idea of full disclosure because they both knew the worst parts of each other and still trusted each other wholeheartedly and yet this entire time Mike was keeping something secret from him.

"Harvey, please." And there was something else in his voice that bled through the anger that time. Desperation, maybe.

"Is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"Do you love me?"

Mike stared at him across the room. Anger was still coursing through him, and he wanted nothing more than for Harvey to get the hell out and leave him alone to rant and cry and possibly throw a possession or two into an unsuspecting wall. But clearly none of that was going to happen, because Harvey fucking Specter wouldn’t leave him in peace. He wanted to talk about this, fine, they'd talk about it. Mike slammed the door shut.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded, taking a step towards Mike.

"If I love you, what business is it of yours?"

That threw Harvey for a loop. He might not be the most emotional person on this planet, but he knew that that was not the generally accepted sentiment. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You heard me. My feelings are my own, okay, and you have no right to know anything that I don't want to tell you."

"You still should have told me. As your boss, something like this affects our working relationship and you should have brought this to my attention."

And Mike laughed. It started small, but the idea of it became more ridiculous the longer he thought about it until Mike was practically doubled over with laughter. "Are you fucking serious?" he asked through his laughter. He took a few more seconds to calm down, then stepped towards Harvey as anger claimed him once more. "When was I supposed to do that, Harvey? When you mock my feelings? When you tell me we aren't friends? When you slam the door in my face when I show up at your condo? When you sprout the virtues of an emotion-free life? When-"

But Mike was cut off by Harvey's lips on his own, his hands firm on either side of Mike's face. They kissed roughly, urgently, all tongue and teeth. Harvey pushed Mike back a few steps, trapped him between the door and his body. There was no breath, no thought, just the feeling of warm skin and the desperation for more.

Harvey felt Mike tugging at his belt. He broke their kiss, foreheads pressed together with ragged breath as Mike unzipped him and thrust his hand into Harvey's pants. He groaned at the contact, tried to press his body closer to Mike's. Mike pumped quickly. Harvey was desperate, needed more than this, needed something to grab onto for purchase. A hand slid down to Mike's neck. He kissed him again, hard. He felt the hardness of Mike against his thigh.

Without his consent Harvey found that his hands had slid down Mike's chest and had not only undone his pants but pushed his pants and boxers to his knees. Mike, always quick on the uptake, pushed Harvey's down too and lifted his shirt slightly so Harvey could push their cocks together. Harvey pressed his mouth to Mike's neck as they ground against each other. Mike wrapped an arm around him, grabbed onto the material of his shirt as they moved together.

Mike said his name, just once. They were both so close, desperate to come. Mike moaned, and Harvey could feel his pulse quicken against his mouth, could feel Mike's shortness of breath. Harvey angled his hips, causing a whole new friction, and Mike gasped. Harvey put his mouth to Mike's ear and whispered, "Come for me, Mike." It was a demand, one that Mike couldn’t help but obey. He came with a gasp, hand fisted into the material of Harvey's shirt, and his orgasm trigged Harvey's own.

They stood together in silence, breathing heavily. Mike dropped his arm from around Harvey, tipped his head back against the wooden door as he tried to regain his breath. Harvey had braced himself with a hand on either side of Mike's shoulders, his weight against the door the only thing keeping him upright.

It didn't take too long for Mike to duck under Harvey's arm and slip into the bathroom. He emerged a moment later, himself already cleaned up, and he tossed a damp washcloth to Harvey. Harvey quickly cleaned himself up and redressed. Mike took it back when he was done and then reopened the front door.

The message was clear, and Harvey's brain still wasn't back to working at full capacity, but he had enough presence of mind to know what Mike wanted, and enough to realise that it wasn't a good idea.

"We need to talk about this, Mike," he insisted.

"No, we really don't. Get out. I won't ask again."

And he was serious. Harvey could read people, and at that moment he knew that despite what had just happened, there was nothing Mike wanted more than his absence. So he nodded, resigned. He tried to catch Mike's eye as he left, but he wouldn’t let him, was looking at anything but Harvey, and the only goodbye Harvey got was the slamming of the front door behind him.

 

 

 

It was 6am and there was a knocking on the door. He didn’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to deduce who would be on the other side, so Mike dutifully ignored it.

Or at least he tried, but the sound just kept coming. Mike watched the minutes tick by on his alarm clock and five minutes later the knocking still persisted. So with a groan he climbed out of bed, padded across the apartment in all his pyjama-clad glory and opened the door.

Harvey dropped his hand and idly rubbed at his knuckles. Mike didn't say anything, just went back into the apartment and sat down on the couch.

"I left my jacket here," Harvey said, after closing the door and joining Mike on the couch. And sure enough, there it was, exactly where he had left it the night before.

Mike laughed, short and hollow. "Is that the only reason you're here?"

"You know it's not." Mike didn't seem inclined to say anything in reply, so Harvey continued with, "Mike, we need to talk about this."

"No, we don't."

"Yes, we do," Harvey's voice was hard. He was sick of this petulant attitude from Mike and he had had enough. "We work together, I am your boss, and we need to talk about this."

"Don't worry, I'm not going to sue for sexual harassment or anything. So I don't know what it is you think we need to talk about."

"How about the fact that you're in love with me?"

This statement earned him the first eye contact of the day. Mike looked up, and Harvey could only categorise his expression as confused. "I'm not in love with you, Harvey. Who said I was in love with you?"

Harvey was sure he was now wearing a matching expression. "Uh, you did. In your letter."

"No, pretty sure I never said I was in love with you. I should know, I did write it after all."

"But-" Harvey was at a loss. Granted, he didn’t read the whole thing, but he was sure he didn't imagine the declaration of love in those words. And he definitely didn’t imagine the sex that happened afterwards.

Mike watched the confusion take over Harvey, and deciding that there was no point not being completely honest at this point, not after everything that happened, he went easy on him. "I said I loved you, and I do. I love you as a friend and a mentor and as my favourite person. And I also think about fucking you, pretty much every day. But I'm not in love with you. That’s not to say I couldn’t be one day, but I'm not there yet."

Harvey didn’t know if he felt relieved or disappointed by this. It was too much, he couldn’t keep up. He stood from the couch, took a few steps away, needed some distance. He had never had a relationship that meant this much to him, never felt more confused or beguiled by one person. But Mike was making him dizzy as things between them continually went from one extreme to another.

"And right now, at this very moment, I kinda hate you."

Again, Harvey was caught off guard. He looked back down to Mike, whose face was hard as stone. Seriously, he would have bruises caused by whiplash by the time this conversation was over.

"You _broke my trust,_ Harvey." Mike ground the words out, slowly and with every fibre of his being. He stood, needed to stand equal with Harvey as he told him, "You stole thoughts and feelings from me that you had no right to know. After everything we have been through together, the one thing I have always been able to count on was that trust between us. We might give each other shit and let each other down but it didn’t matter because underneath all that was the one undeniable truth, that we were in this together and when it came down to it, we had each other's backs. But I don't feel any of that right now."

Harvey always knew that _feelings_ would be the end of him. It was why he had spent the better part of his adult life ensuring that he didn't have any, at least not any of the big ones. And he didn’t know how it was possible that the biggest feeling of all had snuck up on him without his knowledge or consent. But there it was, pounding against his ribcage.

"And what do you feel right now?" Harvey asked softly, eyes averted, afraid of the answer.

Mike sighed, as though Harvey's demeanour had soothed him slightly. He shrugged. "I don't know. Part of me wants to hit you and kick you out and never see you again, and the other part wants to tie you down to my bed and have my way with you."

Harvey couldn’t help the small smile at that. He caught Mike's eye, and saw Mike trying not to smile in return.

"I'm sorry, Mike," he said, the words surprising even himself. But they were still true, and he took courage from that. "You're right, I shouldn’t have read that letter." And because Harvey had no sense of self preservation, of quitting while he was ahead, he added, "But if you didn't want me to know then why did you write it in the first place?"

Mike's face fell, and any good will Harvey had accumulated flew right out the window. "You can be a real bastard, you know that?"

"Mike-"

"Get out, Harvey. Go to work. But just don't expect me to follow, I'm taking the day."

And he turned and walked back to his bedroom, leaving Harvey alone. Harvey felt deflated, angry with himself and Mike and with the whole damned situation. And he didn’t know what to do, so in the absence of a better plan he followed Mike's order and went to work.

When Mike got out of bed half an hour later, he saw Harvey's jacket still on the back of his couch.

 

 

 

When there was a knocking at his door sixteen hours later, Mike had been expecting it. He picked up the jacket from the couch, opened the door and threw it at Harvey. He closed the door again before Harvey could say or do anything.

But Harvey couldn't leave it be, so he started knocking again, calling his name.

"Harvey, don't. I can't talk about this right now. I just need some time, okay?"

There was silence for a moment before Harvey's voice came dully through the door. "How long?"

"I don't know. But if you promise to not bring this up until I'm ready then I will be back at work tomorrow."

The silence stretched even longer that time. But eventually Harvey acquiesced. "Promise."

Mike nodded, let out a breath of relief. "See you tomorrow, Harvey."

"Good night, Mike."

 

 

 

The first day Mike went back to work after everything he and Harvey had imploded between them he couldn’t even look at him. He just sat at his cubicle and put his earphones in and worked from dawn til dusk.

But Harvey was unavoidable, and the first time he went into his office to drop off some files he could feel Harvey's eyes on him the whole time. He didn’t want to pretend like nothing had happened, but nor did he want every negative feeling he was experiencing radiating from his body. Because he was still so angry with Harvey, even if deep inside he didn’t want to be. It wasn't like he enjoyed feeling this way. He did want to forgive Harvey and move on, move forward with him. He just didn’t know how.

Harvey was being painfully nice, and it was so unlike him, and that wasn’t what Mike needed. He needed the real Harvey, and when Harvey offered him the evening off to visit with his Grammy Mike snapped. Mike yelled that he didn’t need him treating him like glass, that the old Harvey of a week ago would never have suggested such a thing and he needed to quit what he was doing and just go back to normal.

It was the closest they got to discussing the events of that night, but Harvey didn’t press for more, just nodded and said okay and from then on things started going back to normal.

Mike knew, rationally, that he had overreacted. That if their situations were reversed who is to say he wouldn’t have done the exact same thing? But he had been lead around by his emotions for so long he couldn't ignore them now, even when he knew that going with his brain would be a much smarter and easier option. So he took it one day at a time and each day he felt slightly less resentful, less angry, more trusting.

 

 

 

Harvey was true to his word. Though he desperately wanted to say something every time Mike entered his office he held back, bit his tongue, just watched and waited for Mike to make the first move.

But he never did.

Weeks passed, and Harvey felt hopeless. He knew it was a slow process, rebuilding the trust that had shattered so spectacularly between them, but now that he had realised what he wanted, who he wanted, he wanted to move forward.

He didn't know how to get the trust back, because he didn't know how they got it in the first place. It was something that had always been there. He had taken it for granted, he realised that now, and a whole new wave of regret washed over him.

There was no magic cure, no trick or gesture that could make everything better. But he thought that maybe there was something he could do to get them back on the road he had knocked them from.

 

 

 

There was an envelope on Mike's keyboard. It was bright white, smooth to the touch, and his name was handwritten on the front.

He picked it up and without opening it marched down to Harvey's office. He was on the phone but Mike couldn’t care less, just barged right in.

"What the hell is this?" he asked, holding the envelope on high.

"Can I call you back, Travis?" Harvey asked into the phone, before adding a farewell and hanging up. He stood from his desk and crossed the room, closing the door because he had a feeling that there were going to be some raised voices escaping this room soon.

"What do you think it is?" Harvey asked.

"It looks like a letter to me."

"You know how you could find out for sure? If you opened it."

"Harvey, what is this?" Mike repeated, stepping closer.

"You know what it is. I thought it sounded like a good idea, so I've started writing my own letters."

"You get that the point of these is that people read them after you die, right? And unless I’m hallucinating you are very much alive."

Harvey shrugged. "I read your letter early. Seemed only fair you get the chance to reciprocate. You don't have to, of course. It's completely up to you. So keep it. Read it if you want and know that every word is true. Otherwise, keep it in a drawer at home and if I'm still here on this day next year throw it out because I'll have written a new one by then."

Mike was overwhelmed. He just stared at Harvey, looking for an ulterior motive. It felt like a trick, a test of some kind. "I don’t get it. What's the plan here, Harvey? Think that this will make everything okay?"

Harvey sighed sadly. "Of course not, Mike. I know what I did was wrong, and every day I'm sorry about what happened. I know this isn’t going to make everything all better. But believe me when I say there is no hidden meaning here. I swear."

And Mike actually believed him, trusted that he was telling the truth, and the feeling was so unexpected yet so welcome that he didn't know what to say. So he simply left the office without another word.

 

 

 

Harvey felt like he had been expecting the knock that came at his door later that evening, even though he had tried not to let himself get his hopes up.

He opened the door for Mike, invited him in with the wave of an arm. Mike entered the room, eyes slowly scanning the space. Three years and this was the first time Harvey had let him into his home. Strangely it was nothing like he had been picturing.

"Can I get you a drink?" Harvey asked.

Mike shook his head. Harvey joined him in the centre of the lounge but kept himself at a respectable distance. Mike just stared at him. Harvey felt the time pass slowly as he returned the unflinching stare. Mike was never this quiet, always rambling on about something or snickering in the corner, and his silence now felt significant.

Eventually Mike stepped forward, slowly, invading Harvey's space. He reached over and began undoing Harvey's tie. Harvey's breath caught in his throat as Mike slowly removed the silk material from around his neck. He discarded the tie, throwing it carelessly over his shoulder, presumably just to spite Harvey, before lifting the shirt from Harvey's pants and beginning work on his buttons.

"We should talk about this," Harvey said, voice low.

"You know, for someone who claims he has no feelings, you sure want to talk about them a lot," Mike replied, eyes locked on his and a smile pulling at his lips. Harvey made no reply, let him continue until he had unbuttoned the shirt and pushed it off his shoulders onto the floor.

"I just have one question," Mike said.

Harvey tilted his head as Mike shrugged off his jacket and pulled his tee over his head. "What's that?"

"Where's the bedroom?"

Harvey leaned over and kissed him. It was soft, just the mere pressing of lips, a hand soft on his cheek. But Mike broke away and, understanding exactly, Harvey turned and walked to his bedroom, knowing Mike was right behind him. He flicked the switch on the wall and the room was bathed in a soft light. Mike snorted lightly to himself – of course Harvey's bedroom light was permanently set on mood-lighting.

As soon as Mike crossed the threshold he grabbed at Harvey's wrist, pulled him back to face him. He wrapped his arms around the older man's neck, pressed their lips together. They kissed fervently but without the desperation that had coloured their first embrace all those weeks prior. Harvey's hands were light on his hips. They were content to just stand there and kiss for a while, like teenagers who needed nothing more than dancing tongues and the barest of skin on skin contact.

But it didn’t take long for that to not be enough. Harvey undid the button and fly on Mike's jeans and they separated, each shucking off pants and underwear and shoes and socks until they were completely naked. Mike was done first, so he lay down on Harvey's unnecessarily opulent bed and waited.

Harvey soon joined him, his body fitting perfectly in the cradle of Mike's hips. He pressed a mouth to Mike's chest, slowly exploring the expanse of white skin with his mouth and hands. Mike stretched beneath him, running a hand through his hair, delighting in messing it from its usual perfection.

They kissed languidly, as though they had all the time in the world. Mike let his hands roam over Harvey's back and ribs and hips and chest. He learnt every angle, remembered every touch, filed the information away for later. Harvey rocked his body slightly against Mike's, making him groan happily.

It wasn’t long until they both needed more. Harvey pulled away, reached into his bedside table for the condom and lube. Mike watched in the soft light as Harvey quickly and efficiently prepared them both. And then he was back, kissing him desperately as he pushed in.

Mike's breath hitched in his throat as he adjusted to the sensation. He couldn’t breathe, overwhelmed by the feeling of being so completely filled and surrounded by this man. Harvey made a slow thrust, eliciting a happy sigh from Mike's lips.

"Mike, open your eyes," Harvey said, his voice soft and gentle. It wasn't a demand, which spoke volumes.

Mike did as he was asked, looked up into Harvey's eyes as he thrust again, slow but deep. Harvey was breathing deeply, his lower lip caught between his teeth. Mike knew why he wanted this eye contact – so they could feed off his each other's pleasure. He wrapped his legs around Harvey's waist, urged him deeper. Taking the subtle cue, Harvey began moving a bit quicker. He wanted to stare at Harvey for forever, see the effect he had on him, and know exactly what it was he did to him. Harvey had never looked at him like that, hell, no one had ever looked at him like that, and it was a rare and heady thing, to be the sole focus of Harvey’s unwavering attention, but he couldn't take the intensity anymore. So he wrapped his arms around him, buried his face in Harvey's neck, urged him closer in every way.

It didn’t take long. Three years of foreplay will do that. The thin layer of sweat coating their skin made their bodies slide easily together and Mike tightened his arms and legs and lifted his hips and the room was full of the sound of their heavy breathing and the occasional _yes, fuck, more, god…_

Mike came with a gasp, his whole body tensing as the moment washed over him. It took a few seconds to get his breath back, to loosen his grip on Harvey. But Harvey was still moving, so so close, and Mike pressed his mouth to his collarbone, dug his teeth into the skin and bit gently. He sucked on the skin and moved a hand from Harvey's back down to his ass and squeezed and Harvey came with Mike's name spilling repeatedly from his lips.

Harvey collapsed, boneless and heavy atop Mike. Mike couldn’t breathe, but he also didn't care, because the warm weight of Harvey felt like a whole different type of oxygen. Harvey soon realised he was crushing Mike and braced some of his weight on his forearms, lifting his head and kissing Mike deeply.

But then he was up and out of the bed with more grace than any debauched man had any right to exhibit. He snuck into the en-suite to clean himself up. He returned to the bedroom and tossed a cloth at Mike on his way through, continuing to the kitchen to grab some water. When he returned Mike had slid beneath the sheets.

Harvey took a sip from the bottle and then offered it to Mike. Mike took a quick drink and handed it back to Harvey who placed it on the bedside table before crawling back into bed, joining Mike under the covers. They lay side by side, not touching but close enough to if they wanted.

"So?" Harvey said at last.

"So."

"I guess you forgive me then, huh?"

"Yeah, I forgive you," Mike replied, smiling.

"I really am sorry."

Mike had never heard him be that sincere. It touched something deep within. "I know." And to show it, he leaned over and kissed his lips. "I'm sorry too. The truth is, I think I was more pissed at myself than you. I should have been brave enough to tell you before you discovered the truth by other means."

"You're forgiven," Harvey said quickly, causing Mike to laugh softly.

They lay together in silence for a minute. Harvey reached over and thread his fingers through Mike's hair. Mike's eyes involuntarily fluttered closed at the touch.

"So you read my letter?" Harvey asked, voice soft and gentle.

Mike opened his eyes, gaze level with Harvey as he said, "No."

"No?" He was genuinely surprised. Because if their situations were reversed he would have opened that letter as soon as he got it and he can't imagine why Mike didn't do the same. "Why not?"

"Because I would rather you told me how you really felt. Or show me, as the case may be," he grinned. "I can read between the lines."

Harvey didn’t know what to say to that. But Mike didn’t look like he was expecting an answer anyway. He had given him an out, and wouldn't begrudge him in the least if he took it. But Harvey wanted to be brave, for once in his life. "I have never felt about anyone the way I feel about you."

"And what do you feel for me?"

"I don’t know. Like I said, it’s a heretofore undiscovered emotion and I don’t know how to label it."

Mike laughed, leaning over and kissing him. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yup. Like I said, I can read between the lines." Mike's grin said it all really.

Mike reached over, ran his fingertips up and down Harvey's forearm. The touch was light, bordering on ticklish.

"So was it how you pictured it?" Off Mike's confused look, he clarified, "The sex. You told me you thought about it a lot. Was it how you imagined?"

Mike laughed, rolling his eyes. "Is this your way of asking me 'was it good for you?' without being so obviously clichéd about it?"

"No, not at all."

But Harvey is nothing if not a raving egomaniac, and Mike didn't believe him. “Truthfully?" Harvey nodded. "When I thought about it before it was much more abstract. You know, tab A into slot B. Flashes of moments with no context. I didn't expect it to be this … intense."

Intense was definitely one word for it. Harvey had never before felt like that during sex. It was an entirely new sensation, and even within the relatively safe confines of his own mind he still didn’t know how to describe it. It was like, despite being completely enveloped by this man he still wanted more, needed to feel closer and deeper, desired nothing in this world outside of him and Mike and the need to be one. "I guess that’s what happens when you're with someone you love."

Mike could tell Harvey hadn't planned to say anything that revealing, and he waited for the inevitable, for the pulling away, the regret and recant. But it never came, and Mike had never been prouder of Harvey.

"I guess so," was Mike's only reply. There was time for definitions and declarations later. Right now, all he wanted was some sleep, because the sooner they fell asleep the sooner they would wake up and have the energy for more fucking. Now if that wasn't a thought to send him off to a sound sleep he didn't know what was.

Mike shifted closer, rested a hand on Harvey's hip and pressed his lips to his in a brief kiss. "Go to sleep, Harvey. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow."

"We do?" Harvey asked, eyebrow raised, intrigued.

"We do," Mike confirmed with a wicked grin.


End file.
